CHANGE.
BY L.E.L.
The wind is sweeping o'er the hill;
It hath a mournful sound,
As if it felt the difference
Its weary wing hath found.
A little while that wandering wind
Swept over leaf and flower;
For there was green for every tree,
And bloom for every hour.
It wandered through the pleasant wood,
And caught the dove's lone song;
And by the garden-beds, and bore
The rose's breath along.
But hoarse and sullenly it sweeps;
No rose is opening now—
No music, for the wood-dove's nest
Is vacant on the bough.
Oh, human heart and wandering wind,
Go look upon the past;
The likeness is the same with each—
Their summer did not last.
Each mourns above the things it loved—
One o'er a flower and leaf;
The other over hopes and joys,
Whose beauty was as brief.
We congratulate the editor and the public on the past success of the Amulet, especially as it proves that a pious feeling co-exists with a taste for refined amusement, and that advantageously. There is nothing austere in any page of the Amulet, nor anything so frivolous and light as to be objectionable; but it steers in the medium, and consequently must be acceptable to every well-regulated mind. Indeed, many of the pieces in the present volume may be read and re-read with increased advantage; whilst two only are unequal to the names attached to them.